


Heartache

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, MSR, Post Break Up, Season 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:33:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22935637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: What does 'ache' mean for Mulder after Scully leaves?
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Kudos: 15





	Heartache

He’s given to understand that in a purely physiological sense a heart can ache. It’s a muscle. It can become overstressed, succumb to arrhythmia, cardiogenic shock. Acute pain shoots across his chest and constricts his breathing. He drops to all fours, riding out the wave.

Google tells him in mocking detail the difference between a heart attack and heart ache. But he’s not a doctor and the symptoms he’s experiencing are frighteningly real. He’s in the right age range for the onset of heart disease, although he likes to think he’s kept himself fit. But years of living on the road, a carefree attitude to calorie intake, not to mention the small traumas of abduction, torture and death, might well have taken their toll.

He calls Scully first, but gets her voicemail. She’s probably healing a child who won’t survive without her Godlike intrusion. Sometimes, he wants to ring his fingers around her neck and squeeze the holy out of her. Why didn’t she care that much about their own son before casting him aside? If she can perform miracles for other people’s kids, why not theirs?

Fingers grasp his heart and crush it. Nausea leaves him with a bitter taste in his mouth and a light head. He calls an ambulance.

The way she tucks her chin to her chest as she checks his chart tells him all he needs to know. He’s fine. He needs more sleep. He should get out into the sunlight. He needs a hobby. She bites her lip too, shakes her head so that her hair sways gently around her shoulders. He loves the longer look on her. But she’s always threatening to cut it off because it’s too much trouble.

“How are you feeling, Mulder?”

“Groggy,” he says, struggling to get a purchase on the gurney to be able to sit up.

She presses a firm hand to his chest. “Lie still. You need to rest.”

“Why? So I can brace myself for the medical bill? I need to go home, Scully. At least I get to hear you tell me I’m a narcissistic hypochondriac attention-seeker in the comfort of my own home.”

She hooks the chart over the end of the bed. “Do you really think I would do that, Mulder?”

His breath leaves his chest and his body trembles with weakness. He brings the back of his hand to his forehead like a true Victorian heroine with an attack of the vapours. Contrite at her tone, he shrugs. “Of course not. I’m sorry, Scully.” He rolls over with some effort, taps her on the hip. She indulges him with a look. “I think you’d like to chew my ass out in public.”

Her weight on the bed is a small comfort, her rear pressed up against his feet that are pinned under the too tight blanket. She bends forward. “Mulder, your symptoms, the breathlessness, the angina, the pressure you described…”

“A broken heart, I know, Scully. Moving on, getting out, finding other things to occupy my, how did you put it, ‘vast and expansive mind’ has been harder than anticipated. I failed. I let myself go. I see it now and believe me, there is nothing more humiliating than the look on a paramedic’s face when he’s assessing your symptoms and all you can do is moan the name of your ex-partner in answer to every question.”

There’s a small pop as her lips separate into a sympathetic smile. “Mulder, listen to me…”

“I don’t blame you, Scully. You should have left a long time ago. I don’t mean that you broke my heart. I mean, it’s broken, yeah, but you are not the one who perpetrated that act. I accept responsibility for my own actions. I broke it myself and…”

She lays fingers over his lips, shushing him.

“Melodrama aside, Mulder, your symptoms point to a silent heart attack. A coronary spasm. You’re very lucky. There’s no permanent damage and no blockage, but it is an early warning to change your lifestyle.”

His temples squeeze as he processes her words. A heart attack? Now he’s having a heart attack at the thought of it. He was right. He should have called an ambulance.

“I’m worried about you,” she says, covering his hand with hers. “You need to get better at looking after yourself.”

He props himself up on his elbow, looks down at his chest, stippled skin visible under the collar of the gown. He touches himself, fingers prodding around his pec, over the ribs that protect his vital organ. “I’m sorry, bud,” he whispers.

“If that’s aimed at me, you don’t need to apologise.”

He looks up. “Oh, I was talking to my heart.” He pats it. “He’s been through the ringer.”

“He? Really Mulder?” She’s at the door when she turns back to him. Walks to his side and drops a kiss on his forehead, her hand around his wrist, gripping tight. “Mulder, you really scared me this time.” There are tears in her eyes and the tip of her nose has turned pink.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” His hand circles her neck. Pulls her down. Her tears wet the hair on his chest, warm his skin. She sniffs, wipes her nose and makes to pull away but he holds her there. The weight her cheek against his skin amplifies the noise of his pulse and together they listen to its rhythm as it beats strong.


End file.
